


Keeping Secrets

by Amboriel



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Consentacles, M/M, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, kink bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-17
Updated: 2011-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-19 12:45:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amboriel/pseuds/Amboriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Great grandpa was guilty of indiscretions with a mermaid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping Secrets

Kris probably doesn't mean for him to see this, Adam thinks. Actually, to hell with _probably_ , there is just no way Adam is supposed to be standing here with a front-row view of Kris, curled up napping or meditating or something on a heap of rocks. He's not dead – Adam can see him breathing, but. Well.

Naked.

Ten feet underwater.

Adam is really focusing hard on that part. It keeps him from thinking about what's keeping Kris' body from floating to the top, like a normal person. And if he repeats that long enough he may even be able to convince himself that the only truly unusual thing is Kris napping nude.

One of the tentacles uncoils itself from the rock it's wrapped around and snakes itself around a different one.

So much for not thinking about it. Them. Whatever.

They're... really not that bad, if he thinks about it with the right sort of trick. Mostly they're purple and blue and red, and there's not a clear line between skin and – skin, he supposes. Anyway they're not ugly, even if they absolutely are not supposed to be there any more than the gills fluttering on Kris' neck, and they're a bit too solid-looking to be a hallucination, even if he'd taken anything, which he hasn't. They're just sort of... there.

Attached to Kris.

No, _part_ of Kris.

He's fairly sure there's more than eight.

Adam isn't sure how long he stands there staring before Kris twitches, arching his spine outward and stretching his arms. The tentacles rearrange themselves on the boulders, restless, and Kris yawns before opening his eyes and tipping his head toward the surface and catching sight of Adam, standing beside the pier.

Adam blinks.

Kris' eyes go comically wide, and he pushes off the rocks, heading up, and Adam thinks about running and screaming, or maybe just scrambling backwards, but tentacles or no tentacles he thinks Kris is probably about as dangerous as ever (which is not at all, really, unless he counts whatever evil powers somehow make Adam go along with anything Kris wants) and he stays still. A moment later he regrets it, because Kris surfaces fast enough that a small wave splashes up and soaks everything below the knees, and Adam was not planning on this set of pants getting wet.

He looks down at Kris, who's braced himself on a rock by the pier, half in the water still. “So.”

The expression on Kris' face isn't – quite – a wince. “I don't suppose you could forget you saw this?”

He gives Kris an incredulous look, because, _really_? “Kris. You have _tentacles_. Like ten of them.”

“Two, actually, and eight arms,” Kris says.

Adam waves his hand. “Whatever. But seriously, what the hell, Kristopher!”

“I can explain.” Adam raises his eyebrow, and Kris shrugs. “You want the short version or the long version?”

“...Short.”

“Great grandpa was guilty of indiscretions with a mermaid. Now some of us go mer in salt-water, if we let ourselves.”

No no no, this is not a logical explanation. He says as much, and adds, “Mermaids don't actually exist.”

Kris laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “They kinda do.” As if to punctuate the statement, a tentacle slips out of the water, clinging to the side of the pier.

“I am willing to concede the point,” Adam says, glancing at the tentacle, “but only because I know I haven't taken anything recently and you have tentacles.” Kris' mouth quirks up at the corner; Adam does not look at it before continuing. “Were you ever planning on telling me?”

“Um,” Kris says.

Adam glares. He's pretty sure that significant others are supposed to tell each other about huge important things in their lives, and if this doesn't count he has no idea what does, except maybe abduction by aliens or something. “Kris.”

“Well, it's not like something you can bring up in conversation,” Kris says defensively. “And I didn't want you to freak out.”

“Do I look like I am freaking out?” Adam asks.

“Yes.”

“Kris,” Adam says, “if I were freaking out I would not be standing here talking to you, I would be running or calling the police or possibly yelling and pacing all over the place.”

A smile grows on Kris' face. “I guess,” he says. “So. Hi, honey, I have tentacles.”

“I can see that.” Tired of having to bend over to talk to Kris, Adam tugs his shoes off and picks his way down the side of the pier. A few minutes and a scrape or two later he's sitting in front of Kris and can look him in the eye without craning his neck.

“Hey,” Kris says, smiling quick and affectionate, and Adam leans it to kiss it off his face without even thinking. He tastes like saltwater – how long was he down there before Adam came along?

Something bumps against the side of his knee. When Adam looks down he sees a tentacle waving back and forth above the water before settling on his leg. He pokes at it cautiously; he seems to recall something about some octopi being dangerous to touch.

“You're not poisonous, right?”

“ _Squid_ , not octopus,” Kris says, like it means something. Adam raises his eyebrows and Kris shakes his head. “They're not poisonous. No electrocution, either. Just ink and color-changing skin.”

Okay, he has to look up at that, because if Kris can actually change the color of his skin that goes beyond weird and into kind of amazing. “Show me.”

Kris' face is somewhere between fond and amused and disbelieving, but a moment later Kris' skin starts turn green and yellow, and okay, that is awesome. The tentacles are changing colors, too, and he pulls the one on his leg up so that he can get a closer look at it. It feels odd – somewhere between slick and rubbery, and not remotely squishy like he might've expected – firm, and the suckers underneath don't catch when he presses his fingertips against them.

“How do these work?” he asks, resting his finger on one. “And the color-changing thing is totally fabulous, by the way, if it were mine I'd —”

“—You'd've used it for shows already,” Kris says, grin lurking at the corner of his mouth. “Um, I control them? More or less. If I'm not thinking and something goes by like a fish or whatever, or if I'm trying to stay put, they'll kick in automatically, like keeping your balance maybe.”

Adam hums, abandoning the lone tentacle to trace Kris' torso, trying to figure out where it changes from human to squid. “I thought mermaids were half fish,” he says.

“I dunno, man,” Kris says, breath hitching as Adam hits a ticklish spot, “maybe some of 'em are, but the one great-Grandpa fooled around with wasn't, so...”

“How does that even work,” Adam says, because Kris isn't exactly wearing anything but Adam doesn't see any of his normal favorites, either – just tentacles from the navel down, and don't octopuses lay eggs or something anyway? He's sure he remembers that much.

“Um,” Kris says, entire body going scarlet, and Adam raises an eyebrow.

“It can't be that bad.”

Kris mumbles something about tentacles and receptacles and Adam is sure he didn't just hear that correctly, except it would make the Japanese fangirls make a lot more sense if he did in fact hear Kris say what Adam thinks he said. Also the way Kris is blushing seems to make it a bit more likely, but Adam doublechecks anyways – and Kris only goes redder.

“Oh my god, Kristopher,” he chokes out around his laughter, “are you serious? Tentacle sex?”

“It's not like I wrote the book on it or something!” Kris protests.

“No, no, seriously,” he says, “how would that even _work_? I don't even want to think about the suckers on these —”

“It's not the arms,” says Kris, “it's the tentacles. They're different. See?”

One comes snaking up out of the water as if on cue, and Adam leans forward to catch hold of it. The tentacle _is_ different, a sort of flared diamond shape at the tip, maybe an inch in diameter where it narrows before going into the tentacle proper. Only one side of the flare has suckers on it, and as he watches it curls in against itself, hiding them. He touches the flared part lightly; then, when nothing startling happens, presses a bit harder.

A choked sort of sound comes from Kris, and when Adam looks up his face is tense. “So maybe don't do that,” Kris says, and Adam knows him well enough to see through the attempt at lightness.

What Adam doesn't expect is the heat rising up in his own body. He's not quite sure why it's there. Tentacles have never been recurring stars in his fantasies, and animal play's just not his scene, but... this is Kris, not pretending to be anything or anyone but himself, and Adam's interested.

Or it could just be an automatic response to Kris in general. That's far more likely, so far as Adam's concerned.

“Adam,” Kris' voice is, if anything, more careful, “what are you doing?”

Adam looks down and realizes he's not only kept his hand on the tentacle but is now stroking it pretty much like a cock. Kris' breath is coming faster, the sound pulling out automatic responses – Adam lets them come, and keeps his hand on Kris' tentacle while curling his other around the back of Kris' neck. Kris watches him warily.

“So,” Adam says, dropping his voice just to make Kris shiver.

“You're joking.”

Adam laughs, sound pealing across the empty pier. “You wish, baby.”

“It's a public beach!”

“There's no-one around,” Adam points out, rubbing small circles over the seam where the tentacle folds in. “Totally deserted.”

“I can't believe you're actually horny right now,” Kris says, but his own voice isn't all that steady, and Adam only grins at him.

“I'm not the only one, sweetheart, or am I supposed to pretend I don't know you?”

“ _A_ -dam,” Kris complains, so Adam drags his nails down the back of Kris' neck and leans in to kiss him hard. Kris moans into his mouth, and Adam sits back, wearing what he knows is a victorious smile.

“Come on, baby,” he says, “help me get these clothes off.”

Kris gives him a how-did-I-get-into-this kind of look and unbuckles Adam's pants, while Adam shrugs out of his shirt and starts in on the jewelry – he's not sure how good the seawater'd be for some of them and he'd rather not find out. Something strokes over his nipple and he jerks – one of the non-tentacle tentacles, and then the sucker fastens over his nipple and pulls a groan straight out of him.

“ _Fuck_ , Kris,” he says.

Kris looks up at him, smug, tugging Adam's pants off and tossing them out of wave-reach. “That's what you wanted, isn't it?”

“Hell yes,” Adam returns, then pauses. “Wait a second,” he says, and goes after his pants, rummaging in them til he finds some lube; he holds it up to show Kris, and says, “Unless the tentacles lube themselves?”

“Believe it or not,”Kris says, “I've never actually done this before.”

Adam blinks, mostly because it sounds true. “Katy?”

The look on Kris' face makes him stop fiddling with the lube and catch Kris up in as deep a kiss he can manage, and he doesn't let off until Kris has relaxed back into his arms.

“Katy didn't really find out until right before,” Kris said, and Adam read between the lines: that was part of the reason for the divorce, the reason Kris and Katy don't speak now.

“Her loss,” Adam says, privately thinking that he's just as glad for that, considering the way things've worked out.

“Yeah,” Kris says, but doesn't look convinced; Adam kisses him again, then, before holding him back a bit so he can look Kris in the eyes.

“You're beautiful, baby, kind of perfect for me, and I'd be the world's biggest fool to give that up.” He lets it sink in for a moment before adopting a ridiculous smile and tacking on, “With or without tentacles.”

Kris drops his head into Adam's shoulder and laughs a little helplessly; Adam takes shameless advantage of that to slide one hand down Kris' torso and between all of the tentacles. Mostly he just feels crevasses from where the arms and tentacles meet, but then his fingers slip into something slick and tight that feels different, and when he curls his fingers experimentally Kris jerks hard against him. “ _Adam_ ,” he says, eyes wide.

“Oh, this'll work out _fine_ ,” Adam says happily, and pushes the lube into Kris' hands. “Come on,” he tells Kris.

Kris looks at him, a little wild-eyed. “Adam, are you —”

“Come on,” Adam repeats. “Open me up. I want to see why your great-grandfather would've done this – it had to be worth doing, right?”

“I don't think that was quite the same,” Kris starts, and Adam bites at his chin to shut him up.

“Kris,” he says. “Slick me up and get me open. I want at least one of those tentacles in my ass and I want it yesterday.” He punctuates the command with a sharp twist of his fingers: Kris whimpers, and a moment later two slick fingers press inside of him.

Adam hums, riding them, loving the stretch and pressure inside – loving it more when Kris finds his prostate and strokes over it, again and again. Part of his mind is focused on the logistics of this, how to make it best for both of them but especially Kris, and he thinks they'll probably wind up in the water altogether but water does not equal fantastic lube, so. Some sort of precautions there. Kris slips a third finger into Adam's ass, and he hisses, rocking down enthusiastically.

“Fuck yes, baby, I love that, you're so good with your hands...”

Which, speaking of, so he moves his free hand around until he finds a tentacle, not an arm, and starts stroking up and down its length, paying careful attention to the head, timing the strokes to his fingers pushing into Kris' body. Kris hisses and bucks and moans, and then Adam is done with prep.

“Kris,” he pants. “Get as much of the lube as you can inside me.”

Kris obeys. It feels like overkill but that judgment call can wait until next time, so far as Adam's concerned.

“Good, baby, so good,” he says, abandoning the tentacle to stroke the side of Kris' face. “How strong are those arms?”

Kris actually grins at him. “Strong enough,” he says.

“Fabulous,” Adam says, “you can get me down into the water without any more scrapes.”

That gets him a raised eyebrow – Kris is afraid that he'll freak out, probably – but he maintains the same demeanor and he doesn't have to wait too long before tentacles – arms, he reminds himself – slither out of the water and wrap themselves around Adam's legs and torso and lift him straight up. Kris isn't kidding, Adam thinks, and suppresses an uneasy shiver. But right behind that is a tsunami of heat, because those arms are unbelievably strong and going absolutely everywhere and it's more intense than any bondage he's ever been on the receiving end of.

By the time Kris lowers him gently into the water, Adam is turned on more than he'd thought was possible, everything considered. The arms rearrange themselves again, some of them supporting Adam in the water, some of them rubbing and scraping against his skin until he'll die if he doesn't get more, he swears it. Kris' face has gone from uncertain to intent, hungry, and Adam's sure his is a match for it.

“Let me,” Adam says, and shifts Kris' torso around until he's lined up his cock with that unseen passage; he presses in, slow, careful, and Kris shudders all the way through it, face twisted with pleasure.

“ _Adam_ ,” he says, pleading, “please, more,” eyes screwed shut, and Adam obliges, pushing all the way in.

“Kris,” Adam murmurs, kissing his face. He tastes of salt, and Adam isn't sure whether it's tears or seawater or both. “Kris, baby, love you so much,” he croons until Kris stops shaking and opens his eyes. “All right?”

“Better than,” Kris sighs, body rippling all the way down, arms and tentacles and tight press around Adam's cock. “Like I don't even know the right words, just, _good_.”

Adam has to kiss him right then, so he does. Then he curls his legs up around Kris' torso, opening himself up as far as he can without actually using fingers or toys or something. “If you don't mind,” he says, rocking – only barely – into Kris.

Kris shudders with the motion anyways and makes some indecipherable “Hngh?” sound. Adam grins.

“Tentacles, sweetheart,” he says. “Remember?”

“Oh.” Kris shakes his head like he's shaking off water, and something rounded and firm and very much _not_ fingers nudges between the cheeks of Adam's ass. “Are you sure,” Kris starts, but Adam rolls his eyes and bites Kris' lip, and then the tip of the tentacle is pressing inside of him.

It doesn't feel much different from a dildo at first, or some other toy, though Adam definitely likes the way it flares inside of him. But then it moves, undulating _inside his ass_ , and he yelps in surprise. That's definitely different. Very different.

Also fucking amazing. Adam screws himself backwards on it as far as he can and it's not far enough, and he's slipping out of Kris in his efforts to get more. Which is unacceptable, so he summons up an impossible amount of will and makes himself still long enough to say, “Kris. I want more. Assume I want more unless I'm writhing in pain or telling you to stop.”

Kris, thank all the gods and earth and everything else, knows him well enough to believe him. The tentacle writhes deeper inside of him, pressing against absolutely impossible places and making him whimper – making him drive in and out of Kris' body like he's frantic for it, which really he pretty much is, careening for the edge at breakneck speeds. When the tip of one arm curls delicately around his balls and pulls them away from his body Adam's almost grateful.

And then there's pressure at his entrance, something trying to push in alongside the first tentacle, and Adam closes his eyes and pushes back as the second tentacle slides inside of his ass. It's almost too much, almost too full, just barely tolerable, and he can feel every tiniest fraction of movement setting off sparks along his entire body. “Kris,” he manages, voice hoarse like a dozen concerts in a row.

“Adam,” Kris answers in a voice nearly as rough as his own, “God, Adam, so tight —” One of the tentacles inside him twitches, perfect pressure right against his prostate, and if it weren't for the arm around his balls Adam would shoot right then, just that.

He can't come, though, only writhe as the tentacles start thrusting, driving himself into Kris and back onto the tentacles, everything in the world focused down to his cock and his ass and Kris in front of him and around him and in him, everywhere Kris. It's enough that he can't think, can't do anything at all but feel. Part of him knows that Kris is as lost as he is, babbling obscenities and pleas as if that'll get them anywhere faster, anything more, and it's just enough —  
—the arm uncoils itself, freeing him, and Adam comes and comes and comes, burying himself in Kris so deep he almost doesn't believe it, shouting his completion. A few thrusts so intense they nearly hurt and the tentacles stiffen, pressing inside of him and staying there, flaring open and stretching him even farther, and Kris gives a shocked sort of cry, convulsing.

Adam pets his hair, and tries to remember to keep his head above water.

Some time later, when he actually can speak again, Adam sighs, shaking his head. Kris catches his eyes, sated, a little curious. “What?” Kris asks.

“You do realize,” Adam says, and then stops, shaking his head again. “See, this is why you should tell me things. We could've been doing this years ago, Kristopher!”

Kris rolls his eyes, grinning, and Adam bends his head in to kiss the smile off his face.


End file.
